Neville's Boggart
by Kiro Angel
Summary: In the year after the war, when many people are repeating years, the 8th year is forced into group therapy sessions, led by the unwilling Prof. Snape, wherein they share their second worst memories via pensieve. Neville's choice is... unexpected to say the least, his reasons even more so. NLSS, m/m, slash, one-shot


AN: Well, I was feeling a bit disconnected from the muses, so I decided to go searching through my old files for inspiration. I found this and, low and behold, loved it more than I ever thought I would. So yeah. Try it. Old AN: I don't even know why I'm writing this. I don't even like Snape/Neville. I think it would never work and Sev would murder Neville before the week is out. Yet what am I writing? That's right, NLSS! What am I doing with my life? Anyway, I do not own these characters or settings or any of the plot overlap. That's all JK Rowling's! Anyway, guys, enjoy! ~Kiro

* * *

Neville stared at the figure as it lurched its way out of the wardrobe. The boggart looked down its hooked nose as it regarded him with disdain and disgust. Professor Snape strode forward with the determination that Neville so admired, but it was aimed at... him, and fueled by malice.

Neville hated having to face reality like this. Sure, he had known that this was his worst fear, but to see it embodied in front of him once again, this time with snickers and whispers from his classmates, was too much for his thirteen-year-old brain.

Lupin called to Neville from his place beside the boy.

"Come on, Neville. Ridiculus. Say it."

Called back to reality, Neville raised his wand and shakily called out the spell.

"Ridiculus!"

The robes on Professor Snape's figure shrunk to his body, something large and fowl landed on his head, and he stood there in a scandalous green velvet dress and large taxidermy turkey.

Neville took a step back as a laugh burbled out of his throat seeing the teacher so unexpectedly in a form-fitting dress. The malicious stare was gone, replaced by bewilderment and embarrassment. Neville turned his eyes away quickly, and stood off to the side as a line formed, looking at anywhere but the boggart.

Neville felt guilt rip at his chest as he made his way to the back of the line. The hurt and embarrassment on that face clung to his mind even as he tried to avoid thinking about it or those velvet-hugged legs.

"That is your second worst memory, Longbottom?"

Neville nodded hesitantly, looking steadily into Professor Snape's incredulous stare. Behind him, the classroom of eighth years whispered or gaped at the young war hero.

The entire purpose of these group therapy sessions were to get out the horrors seen in the war so that everyone understood what everyone else was going through and would be able to find closure. Everyone had expected for Neville's second worst memory to be the torture of his sixth year or the final battle. No one expected it to be a harmless boggart class from DADA from third year.

But the pensieve didn't lie. If that was the memory that was shown, that was Neville's worst memory.

"Yes, sir. I know that everyone expects it to be a memory from the war, but whenever I was hurt or tortured there, I knew it was for a noble cause. Every one of those memories is just proof to myself of my worth and determination. You don't know how good it felt to be finally worth something, sir."

Snape looked at him even more incredulously now, looking as if Neville had somehow lost his mind in the war.

"Yes, I can see how that might happen, Longbottom. However, why is this specific memory your worst? In this one you proved your worth as well by executing a spell correctly under pressure."

This time, Neville did look down. Whether it was in embarrassment, shame, or fear, no one knew.

"Well, you see, sir... I was thirteen years old, in the middle of puberty and all that, and it affected my decisions. In front of the rest of my class, no less. See- look, this would be a lot better if I could just bring all of you into the memory with me instead of just watching it on the screen. Can we do that, sir?"

Professor Snape looked from the specially set up Pensieve display screen to the class, then back to Neville.

"No, Mr. Longbottom, it would be far more efficient to only take me in if you insist on doing this."

Neville looked nervously around the classroom, then turned back to the professor.

"Right, then. On three?"

"Yes."

"Right, then. One. Two. Three."

And they entered the memory.

The two figures stood behind a young Neville, watching as a replica Snape lurched forward from the wardrobe.

"Do you see, sir?" Said the younger of the two new watching figures, "Do you see the malice in the boggart's eyes? I wasn't really afraid of you, sir. Not really. I was afraid of your malice for me. I was so useless, back then, and I was quite afraid that you would never find any worth in me."

"See how time slows down now, when you look at me? That is how it felt, the first time I ever saw that look on your face and every time since. Here is this man that is so strong and brave and powerful, and he finds me disgusting. That is what I was really afraid of."

Thirteen-year-old Neville raised his wand and cried out a word that shrunk the approaching figure's clothes to a tight velvet green dress. The figures looking on grimaced, though for different reasons.

"Now, you have to look at my face here. Come on, come look!"

With a simple expression of intent, the two rounded the figure. There, across the boy's face, was written an odd expression. A light blush flushed his cheeks and his eyes widened in astonishment, anxiety, and attraction. The boy quickly looked away and a dark shadow flitted across his face.

"Right there was where I realized how good you look in tight clothes. And now is when I look away to fight off a blush that's already happened. Now I'm feeling incredibly guilty."

The world distorted as the memory ended, spitting two figures back into their bodies. Neville continued talking as if he had never been interrupted.

"You see, sir, I was certain that you would hate me for putting you in my grandmother's ugly dress in front of twenty-some immature thirteen-year-olds and a colleague you despised. I did something that probably made you hate me even more than you did before hand. See, professor, I don't think that I ever really got over that crush on you. Making you hate me and, worse, making me hate myself, that is why that was my worst memory."

The audience was thoroughly gobsmacked as they watched the scene unfold before them. This was madness. Neville must be insane.

Snape nodded slowly, studying Neville with his eyes. He slowly walked forward, toward the brave eighteen-year-old.

"I never did hate you, Longbottom. I saw this great potential in you and, though I will admit that I went about it the wrong way, I was only trying to bring it to fruition. You did make me proud, Longbottom. You endured torture and helped to win a war with your own two hands, how could I not be proud of you after that?"

He advanced closer and closer to the young man as he talked until he stood half a step away. Pausing, he placed his hands heavily on the other's shoulders, holding him steady as Snape looked into his face.

"However, your bravery in doing this, in front of the entirety of eighth year, is incredible. Never have I admired anyone so much or been so proud as I am in this moment. And to say that I don't find that damn sexy would be a lie."

With that, the potions professor leaned forward and sealed his mouth to Neville's in a kiss.

The grown man and two children spun out of the pensieve to sit once again on the worn couch. The careworn bowl of memories lay unassuming on the table, reflecting the joint Hufflepuff and Slytherin Heads of House family quarters back at the trio.

"Wow, Dad! You mean Pater really had all black hair once?"

The sandy-haired man smiled softly and gathered his son and daughter closer in his arms.

"Of course, Fer. Though, if that is the only thing you got out of that memory then I'm afraid I am going to have to doubt your attention span."

The little girl to his left looked up, stars in her eyes.

"I think it was really beautiful, Daddy! You and Pa were so happy. Do you think I'll ever have sparkly eyes like you two, Daddy?"

Neville Longbottom-Snape chuckled and mussed his daughter's hair.

"Trust me, Alice, if your Pa and I managed to get sparkly-eyed together, you have all the chances in the world."

* * *

AN: Okay, so I have to explain the kids' names. Alice is, of course, named after Alice Longbottom, Neville's mother. The boy's name is Ferric, of "Fer" for short. It's a bit odd but I've been wanting to name someone Ferric for a while. See, it's the Latin name for iron, but it isn't the basic name for the element, it's a derivative used when iron is in a compound. You wouldn't say "ferric" just on its own in reference to the elemental form of iron, that would be "ferrum". Ferric is used in reference to iron (III) in compounds, such as ferric chloride (FeCl3). In any case, it hit me in Chem class one day and I was too nerdy not to use it as a name for a character. My explanation is that Severus discovered the name when researching for a potion. Take it or leave it.


End file.
